


a whip and a chair

by Pares (kormantic)



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Canadian Shack, Discomfiting Bearskin Rug, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-12-21
Updated: 2001-12-21
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kormantic/pseuds/Pares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not exactly an igloo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a whip and a chair

**Author's Note:**

> A Canadian Shack challenge story.

There are nearly invisible hairs on the backs of her hands. The skin is 

iridescent at the bend of her elbow, even in firelight.

"This isn't exactly... comfortable." And he could tell she was trying to be diplomatic.

"It's romantic." He turned her hand over and pressed a kiss into her palm. 

It hadn't looked like much, more like a tool shed than an actual cabin. And the decor suggested that a taxidermist with a mean streak lived there the rest of the year. The glass eyes of many beheaded animals had stared at them as they'd dropped their bags. But it was snug and warm and the flannel sheets on the ridiculous bed were clean and smelled like cedar. 

The post-Christmas lull and three days off. In a row. Pete Tolliver pinch-hitting for CJ, having solemnly promised to keep Josh from the pressroom with a whip and a chair.

And while he had specified 'roaring fireplace', he hadn't expected--

"It's just-- I don't know how comfortable I am lying on the hide of a large, dead predator, Toby."

She had levered herself up into a sitting position, her hand resting gingerly on the empty hood of the bearskin. The fire made her golden, but the air was still cool and he could see a rill of goosebumps rise and race along her shoulders. Toby had to smile. 

"There's always the bed."

She touched his lower lip with three fingers.

"You're a practical man, Toby."

"So I've been told."

"You're a practical, yet mysterious man. What made you decide to rent a cabin here, anyway?"

"I read a lot of Jack London when I was a kid."

"So you thought you'd have a romantic interlude in the frozen wilderness, governed only by the law of pitiless nature? Tooth and claw, blizzard and gale--"

"Pate and champagne," he reminded, refilling her glass. "It's not exactly an igloo, CJ."

Leaning forward, CJ breathed against his mouth. 

"It's delightful," she said.

"I'm glad you think so."

"You're talking too much."

"I agree."

One of her slow, deep laughs, shoulders shaking. He set his hand against her belly, soft and vulnerable. 

He bent to kiss it and she stroked his hair and murmured, "If Senator Renfro knew what a softie you were after you've gotten laid, he'd drop trou at your next meeting."

"What makes you think he hasn't done that already?"

Another laugh, and this time he could feel it with his lips.

"You really _are_ the White House gigolo--"

"At your service. I think you'll find my terms very reasonable."

"Toby."

"Mm?"

"I really-- I mean, I just can't... This thing is _looking_ at me."

"I believe I already offered the bed as a viable alternative. Try closing your eyes."

Her hair spread out, caramel against the deep brown of the bearskin, as she leaned back again. Eyes closed, she beckoned lazily.

"You may now pleasure me." 

"Just keep in mind that I charge by the hour."

She smiled, but didn't open her eyes.

"Than you'd better make sure I get my money's worth."


End file.
